


Unforgotten

by Amanuensis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-28
Updated: 2005-12-28
Packaged: 2018-10-26 11:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10785579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanuensis/pseuds/Amanuensis
Summary: drabble based on the word "Oubliette





	Unforgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: 500+ word angsty drabble based on the word "Oubliette." After a number of these had been done on the Harry/Lucius group, I came up with this twist.  


* * *

"If I turn in my analysis of the bones," says Severus, "it will mean more than Azkaban. It will mean a Dementor's Kiss."  
  
I don't look at him.  
  
"I cannot falsify the report," he says. "But... I can refuse to turn it in. Another would be assigned to perform the analysis. And might not conclude what I have."  
  
Dear Severus. You forgave me, too, didn't you?  
  
I know there's no hiding it. Neither of us is young any more; neither of us is even what one could honestly call _middle-aged_. But the bones will speak, even after all these years.  
  
And the pain... is as fresh as yesterday.  
  
He was... so young. So helpless. But he never begged.  
  
For mercy, at any rate.  
  
I wanted him. I told him I'd shelter him... for a price.  
  
He was more afraid of Voldemort than of anything he knew I would ever do to him. And that was the entrance that let me get into his heart.  
  
To this day I taste him. If one could taste mercury and not be poisoned by it, then I would know if he truly tasted like mercury or not.  
  
That was how I thought he tasted, how he seemed, under my mouth, in my arms, in my bed. Always changing, offering something new to be discovered, whether it was the sound of my name on his lips, or the way he sank to his knees to wrap his arms so delicately around my waist while he sucked me into his mouth, or the tightness of his arse clenching around me as I rode him hard, or the way he nuzzled my breastbone as we lay together through the night.  
  
Neither of us truly assaulted that entrance into each other's hearts. We simply let each of our own... fall open.  
  
And then Voldemort took him from me. I promised him shelter, and I failed him.  
  
My Lord handed me the knife, told me to do it.  
  
Harry saw me hesitate. Knew that my hesitation would mean my death as well as his.  
  
Seized the knife in my hand and drove it into his own throat, like a Japanese woman committing seppuku.  
  
Voldemort told me to dispose of the body.  
  
I took that exsanguinated, pale form, laid it on my bed, and lay wrapped around it for three days.  
  
And then I dropped it down the oubliette, unable to do anything else.  
  
Hoping, I suppose, I could inspire his ghost to haunt my mansion.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
It just meant that they finally found evidence to use against me, all these years later, about my part in Voldemort's ranks and the disappearance of The Boy Who Lived.  
  
"The scar," says Severus. "Ingrained on the skull. It's almost as old as the bones. Shaped like a lightning bolt. I don't think... anyone will miss that, Lucius."  
  
I think about the look in those green eyes, held on mine, as he died.  
  
Forgiving.  
  
"Do it, Severus."  
  
Severus puts something in my hand before he leaves my cell. A small packet.  
  
Powdered hemlock.  
  
Dear Severus.


End file.
